Author: Jonathon

I’ve decided to be happy. Happiness is often about choice. Choosing to be in a good head space, or letting the bad head space take you over. If we don’t work our issues, our issues work us. One of the issues most likely to put a collar around our neck and drag us around the block, is childhood issues. My grandmother was an amazing person. She survived domestic abuse, poverty and an amount of work that would have broken most people. She raised five children, plus one grandchild, me, and helped raise two other grandchildren, part time. But one of the lessons she took from a very hard life was depression. She was depressed most of my life. I didn’t know it when I was very little, but she lived with a fear of the future. She was convinced that the terrible bad thing would happen and it would happen to her and her loved ones. She was utterly convinced of this. She lived in terror of being alone, and of loosing my mother to an early death. When my mother, did indeed, die before thirty, it just confirmed my grandmother’s view of the world. This view stole a lot of joy from her life. She could never enjoy anything for long without worrying that it would be taken away. I absorbed this idea of the world into my very pores as a child. She was my whole world, why wouldn’t I believe her? Besides, my mother died when I was six, and that taught me that the adults around me couldn’t even protect themselves, let alone me. It forever changed how I would be a child, and later an adult.

I never felt safe after my mother died. Never felt sure of my place in the world and what would happen to me. My grandmother, bless her heart, didn’t help. She told me, nearly daily, that she would not live to see me graduate high school. She reminded me that she was old and would die soon. She was all I had, and she told me she would die and leave me to find other family to live with. It was a frightening message to a child. I think she did it, to prepare me, because she believed it. She honestly did. She said, "I’ll never live to see you graduate high school." She did, of course.

Then, "I’ll never live to see you marry." She did. "I’ll never live to see you graduate college." and, "Now that you’re married, you’ll never finish college." She never really understood me in some ways. My first husband and I finished college, we only had one year left. Then, "I’ll never live to see "Susie’s grandchild." My mother was Susie. Notice, not my child, but Susie’s grandchild. My grandmother never recovered from my mother’s death. It was a loss that haunted her, always. Admittedly, my first husband and I waited ten years of marriage before we got pregnant, but Granny did see, and hold, and talk to, Susie’s grandchild. All her life was about what she would not get to do, see, or enjoy. She was always so busy looking at what bad things were coming that she often lost enjoyment in the good things that were actually happening around her. I was determined not to do that in my own life. I’ve had therapy to help unlearn that lesson of loss and fear, but there’s a funny thing about childhood lessons, when under stress you sometimes revert to them. Even if they are bad, or scary, they are familiar, and under enough stress familiar feels oddly better than new positive things. I knew that lesson, but I forgot. I’ve let the stress of the last few weeks throw me back into that mindset of loss and sorrow and fear.

So, today, I got up and I felt good. I got more sleep last night, and so did Jon. But after I’d gotten dressed and quietly left the bedroom to start the day, I started to feel down. I read the New York Times on line. I answered some e-mail. I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. Nothing bad was happening, but I felt like it was, and that was the moment that I realized that I’ve been channeling my grandmother. I’ve been worried about what might happen, or what is not happening that I want to happen. It is a mentality almost completely about loss. Fear that you will loose the good things in your life, fear that the things you want will never come to you, fear that if you do, you will be sorry you have them. I was raised that that was the truth of the universe, oh, and that God was a sort of heavenly hitman, and if you were too happy he’d punish you, and ruin it. That I think was from her early raising in a very fire and brimstone church. Though, she raised me not Christian, she never shook off the idea that heaven was out to get you. Her religion of choice? Angry-at-God. Someone at my mother’s funeral told her, it was God’s will, and Granny never forgave God for it. Well, years after I left home she found a truce with the big Guy, and some peace. But when I was little, oh, no. One of the biggest fights we ever had was me wanting to join the Church. She felt God had gotten one of her children in death, he couldn’t have the other one in life. I have to admire the sheer balls of it. She had a grudge against God for about twenty years, as if she could win this fight. That was my Grandmother, a woman who thought she could take on God and win.

You don’t change a lifetime of habits instantly, but now that I understand what is happening my head, I can begin the work. I can begin to take small steps to distract myself from the yawning abyss that was always at the edge of my childhood. It’s not really there, and God, and Goddess, really do want the best for us. I believe that, honestly, I do, but my grandmother’s voice in my head is still loud today. She didn’t believe in the good things of life, when was alive, I hope, I pray, that she’s somewhere safe and understands finally that the Universe is about love, not loss, and that she can finally let go of all that fear. I’ll do my bit, by letting go of mine.

It’s Friday. Thank God. I know it makes no real difference to my work that it’s the weekend, but it’s been some week. I’m just happy to have survived. I know, better than most, that as long as everyone is alive, it’s still a good week. We survived, good week, but it was still a hard week. Three pages on the book today. The most I’ve gotten in three days. I’ve actually made more progress on the comic.

We’re to bed. The doctor gave Jon something to help him sleep, so he slept last night. Me, not so much. I think I’ve been on sick/injured person duty too long. I can’t relax and simply sleep. I’m tensed waiting for him to need something. It will pass as he has more quiet nights. Maybe tonight I’ll actually sleep soundly. Fingers crossed.

Jon’s doctor’s visit went well. The swelling is almost gone, and the doc was pleased with the movement of the knee. We don’t have to go back for four weeks. In six it will be time for physical therepy. Though, I really thought the small movements that Jon was doing with his leg while he sat on the couch with pillows and ice was physical therepy. Apparently, not. Tonight, Jon doesn’t have to sleep on his back. Yea! Back to our usual spooning. Very yea!

We also had to get allergy shots this morning, but it’s done for another month. When I finish this I have to get ready to meet a reporter and have an interview. When I know when it hits the stands we’ll give you details. I also have two essays due today. Short ones, but then short is always harder for me. It puzzles me. I have had to give up on the idea I am going to be able to work on the book.

And no, we did not sleep well last night. The doc has prescribed something to help Jon sleep. He thinks it’s either a by product of the pain meds, or just the operation in general. Frankly, I think just being able to sleep in a normal position will help.

I’m off to finish getting ready, but I’ll leave you with the saying that I have sticky-noted around my desk:

"Let go of the day you had planned, and embrace the day you’ve been given." I read that sticky note a lot. Because, often, lately, I find that what I’d planned to do, just isn’t happening, and I have to let go of the anger that puts in me. I hate to have my plans stalled. I am so goal oriented, and anything that gets in my way is a frustration. So, first you have to let it go, then you have to embrace what’s actually happening, not what you thought was happening, or wanted to happen. Anyway, I’m off to find a jacket to wear and dresser shoes that work with the ankle brace. I think I have a pair that will do.

You guys enjoy your day, whatever it may hold.

Jon and I slept badly last night. In fact, we have probably slept well only two nights out of the last week. It’s beginning to take it’s toil. I pray that we sleep well, and deeply tonight, but fear that we will not. Perhaps it is the very dread of not sleeping that is beginning to contribute to the problem. We see his doctor tomorrow. Hopefully, we’ll get the okay for him to sleep in more than one position. We’re both side sleepers, and his being trapped on his back has put us off our rythmn. Or maybe it’s the pain meds for him, or the surgery, or . . . Pick something. I keep putting off picking up Phouka’s ashes in their little box with the tender sayings on it. I don’t think I want it in the house, but what else am I to do with it?

I’ll leave you with a quote:

"Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care

The death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath

Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,

Chief nourisher in life’s feast."

William Shakespeare – Macbeth

Good news: I could smell roses at the bottom of the stairs leading up to my office. I lost my head this spring and bought tree roses. So impractical, but one of the impracticals was Mr. Lincoln. It’s a red hybrid tea, with huge scarlet blossoms, and a sweet, rich perfume. It was supposed to rain today, so I cut some roses to save them from the beating. Three of Mr. Lincoln were enough to fill the room and the stairway with sweetness. The flowers, themselves, are as wide as my out spread hand. We’ve fought black spot on the bush all year, and it’s going to be a challenge to protect this winter, but when it can make you smile on a day when nothing much else does, it’s worth the trouble. It’s not how much work a thing is, but if the work is worth it. A personal choice, that, but I tend to attract high maintenance things, both people and other living things. In the end, you hold that huge, gaudy blossom, breath in that perfume, and you know that it was all worth it.

Bad news: I twisted my bad ankle on the stairs yesterday. Not too badly. I just tried to run up the stairs, and apparently, I still can’t. This morning walking Pippin, he reacted badly to the neighbor’s dog and in trying to keep it from escalating, the ankle got twisted again. The doctor told me that I could try physical therapy and weights, but if that didn’t do it, then it was surgery. I had yoga schedule this afternoon, but by then the pain in my ankle was beating in time to my pulse. I put ice on the ankle, elevated it, and let yoga go on without me. What is it with all the leg injuries at our house?

Good news: Jon is out of the wheelchair and onto crutches. Yea! The swelling is almost gone on his knee, and he was able to shower this morning. Though, I may have to shave his face for him, or he’s going to have to regrow that full beard. I’ll let him teach me how to save his face. Didn’t like the full beard.

Bad news: Get to pick up Phouka’s ashes from the vet’s today. I think that’s selfexplanatory.

Simply news: I’ll be looking over the lettering for the second issue of the Anita Blake: Laughing Corpse comic when I get done typing this. Lettering means it’s almost done.

Frustrating news: The newest Anita book, SKIN TRADE is still stalled. I can’t tell if it’s really lost it’s way, or if it’s my mood. When you’re trapped in a mood it’s hard to tell.

A question: Does instant coffee go bad, or is it like nuclear bomb safe food and will be ready to drink when only the cockroaches are left?

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And the book is cold in my hands. I had one day of only four pages, then nothing yesterday, and I sit here at my desk and doubt. Is this the direction the book needs to go? Was I wrong to cut that one scene and move it later in the book? No, that last question, I know, that scene needed to move. It’s too close to the climatic end stuff, so it needs to be closer to the end. But, have I had my police act as police would not act? I’m beginning to think that if Anita doesn’t get the metaphysics under control she’s going to have to give up her badge. Either her police bosses will ask for it, or she’ll give it up voluntearily. We can’t keep being this out there on the magic, and be a cop. We can save people, and get the bad guys, initially, but we can’t prove it in court. Visions, vampire powers, shapeshifter powers; none of it is admissible in court. Why? Because you can’t cross exam it. You can’t duplicate it, or explain it, so that the jury, or even the judge, can understand it. Hell, DNA isn’t nearly as accepted in every court as television will make you think, now take that logic and expand it. Try taking "magic" into court and explaining to a non magic jury how you found the bad guy, or that critical piece of evidence, that led to your search warrant. You might get a search warrant on a vision if lives were at stake, but it won’t hold up later. It just won’t. It would be the equivalent of telling the judge that God told you it was true. That may work in some churches, though frankly these days they’re more likely to send you to therapy, but in court, well . . . Miracles and visions aren’t evidentiary proof.

So, do I go back? Do I continue on? I lost twenty pages earlier, because it didn’t work. The deadline looms like some great dragon that I must battle. The battle is scheduled for the end of December. Do I ask for more time now? Or do I have the police accept things from Anita and the gang that I don’t think cops would accept? In the heat of a chase, they might. If you’d proven yourself to them, to save a life, they might, but later they’ll all be in trouble for following the heebie-jeebie stuff. Why? Because, visions aren’t proof. It’s one of the reasons real life police have such trouble with psychics. In fact, if you’re a psychic and come into a case with details that only the killer would know, you are more likely to be treated as a suspect than as a help. Police work tends to teach you to trust only what you can see, touch, smell, etc . . . Exception is the famous gut, or leap of intuition. Some of the best investigators of all flavors have that ability to take the facts and make these leaps, and turn jumbled facts into a pattern. But in real life, you then can prove it, put concrete things to your leap of imagination. The only thing that allows Anita to function as a marshal is the rather loose way the law is written for vampire executioners. Once we have the warrant of execution, we are almost a law unto ourselves. It is a human rights nightmare. But she and Edward are working with the local cops, so they can’t play as fast and loose as normal with the rules. It’s becoming a problem.

Do I power through and see if we can find proof to back up the vampire powers later? Proof that would hold up in court? Interestingly, there won’t be a court case, actually. One of the biggest differences between Anita and real police is that vampires don’t go to court, they are just executed. If you’re wrong, there’s no apology. Sorry, you’re dead, but I had this vision, you see. Yeah, right. But again, if you can prove even a tenuous connection between the dead vamp and the case, the warrant is usually so vague that the executioner is covered. I really have to give Anita more paperwork to fill out. I mean, real cops, have paperwork if they discharge their weapons, at all. If you actually wound, or especially kill someone, hours of your life go to paperwork. Not to mention possible review, and etc . . . The best handling of that on television that I’ve seen so far is FLASHPOINT.

Anita kills people, that’s her job. So, since she’s already got paperwork allowing her to do it, I’ve always gone on the idea that the paper trail was started before the kill, but really she should be doing more paperwork. I know that, but I hate paperwork as much as the next guy. But I do need to throw in a scene where she complains about the increased reports and paperwork now that she’s officially carrying a badge.

Wait, where was I? Oh, yeah, the current scene. Still don’t know what to do. Still don’t know if a wheel has come off my cart, or if the book is going just where it’s supposed to go. Can’t tell. Tired, frustrated, and just in a grumpy mood. Treadmill; maybe that will help. It will certainly help loosen that one spot in my back.

What do you do when you’re overwhelmed and a little down, and you know that the true end of the stress in nowhere in sight? What I normally do is off the books, because my sweetie is broken until further notice. So that’s off the table. So, what to do? I had errands I had to run just to keep things running in the household, so I turned necessity into pleasure by driving The Foose. I hadn’t driven the Baby in ages, because Jon can’t bend well enough to get in and out of it. I’d forgotten how good it feels to slip into that seat and have the car infold me. It still has that new car smell, or maybe it’s just the scent of the Foose. Maybe this car, like some men just smells good to me. Maybe. I let that throaty roar of engine envelop me, and concentrated on the movements you need to drive a car like the Foose. I’ve gotten good enough that I can listen to music while I drive. I don’t need the sound of the engine to tell me when to shift. But I found that I wanted to hear the engine. I wanted that purring, vibrating sound, to be the only sound in the car. It’s peaceful. It’s fun to pull up beside some guy in a car, and watch his eyes. It’s the car, not me. I know where the car geeks are looking, and that’s okay, it’s a nice car.

I was able to do the errands because our friend, Richard, came over for a play date with Jon. The new 360, and the new games beckoned the boys. They played Dynasty Warrior 6 and LEGO Batman, until Jon got tired and then they put on the latest tivo episode of Mythbusters. One of our favorite shows. But Richard, allowed me enough time to go out shopping for a birthday present which is due, and now overdue. I hit my favorite metaphysical store, stocked up on incense and other necessities. They were also having a book sale, which is something I can seldom resist especially when informed that most of the books are now out of print. Then to the nearest Hallmark store, because we needed a card to go with the present. I love card stores, always have. I have a present closet here at home which has cards filed and ready for use. I was getting low, so I bought extras of things I might need. I love finding the perfect card for someone. It just makes me happy. I also bought some Halloween decorations, and some new mugs. I do love mugs. I bought two with the kind of sayings that Anita could take to work to bug Bert, and one that was a positive statement to help remind me that I really do love my job. I’m just stretched a little thin in other areas of my life, and having trouble finding ways to recharge my batteries. I found a leather bracelet at the metaphysical store, that smells like leather, like saddles and well cured pelts. One sniff of it, and I keep feeling that sensation of cinching a saddle in place. That creak of the saddle as you settle into it. Strangely, I’ve not ridden much, but the tactile memory is so strong, so comforting, so real. A flash from the past maybe. I don’t usually find the thought of horses comforting. They tend to try and get me off their backs in interesting ways. But the bracelet smells wonderful and the scent is very calming. I like leather, the smell of it, the touch of it, but it’s a little hot for a leather jacket right now, so the bracelet was a nice find.

I’m re-reading the Spenser series by Robert B. Parker from the beginning. It was one of my early favorites, and a new Spenser book will still send me to the bookstore. Why read from the beginning, because I’m having such trouble reading other people’s fiction. I find myself editing it as I read, and that’s no fun. But the familiarity of these books is helping me ease past that, and it’s fun to watch Spenser meet Susan, the love of his life, for the first time. I’m looking forward to Hawk’s first on stage appeareance. The writing is good, and it’s interesting to watch how his style changed over the years. Reading someone else’s stuff is helping calm me, too. When the anxiety builds I grab a book and read for a few minutes. It helps slow the noise in my head.

Right now, I’m drinking hot, black tea, with more sugar and cream than I should probably be using, but I’m easing up on myself in some areas for the duration of Jon’s recovery. We’re still on Jenny Craig, we’re still being good. One of the my errands yesterday was a trip to there to restock on food. My goal today is treadmill, bubble bath, and to make an appearance at my Writing Group’s twentieth anniversary dinner. Yep, that’s right, the Alternate Historians have been together for twenty years this year. We had this dinner planned ages before we knew Jon would be having the knee operation. Sigh. He can’t go, and I can’t leave him alone that long, so I’m hoping to be able to pop in for a few minutes at least. We’ll see how it goes.

Must concentrate on the positive outcome. When Jon is through physical therapy we will be able to: Go dancing again, yea! Hiking. Bird watching. Ren Faires. Walking together. Walking the dogs. He’ll be able to exercise again. (not sure he sees that as a plus but he’s promised to do what needs doing, and I’m holding him to it). Just being able for me to go out and know that he’s not going to hurt himself, or be trapped with no way to move around safely. Jon being able to get on a plane and not be on crutches. Be able to do a lot of things without being on crutches. And, yes, sex. When his knee is well, we’ll be back to our more usual adventuresome selves. Really looking forward to that part. I have to say, if I ever had the home life that some of you believe I had, with all the extra men, this would be the perfect time for it to be true. I don’t just mean the sex. I mean errands, and helping take care of Jon. What most people don’t get about truly being poly is that it’s not about being promiscuous, but about having an extended family. (Admittedly, some people use it as an excuse to simply sleep around and feel justified, but to me, they miss the point.) Right now, it would be very nice to be able to tag team other adults for some of this work, and truly know you could count on that comforting puppy pile at the end of the day. Extra hugs would also be very nice. But I will muddle through like most of us do, with my little nuclear family. But come on, wouldn’t it be nice to have just one more adult you could count on, or a couple of them? You guys fantasize about the sex if you want to, I’m beginning to fantasize more about help around the house, and emotional support. Admittedly, all three would be nice.

Saturday morning. The first morning since Jon’s operation that I could sleep in, and what do I do? Get up. I woke and simply couldn’t get back to sleep. The anaesthesia has finally gotten out of Jon’s system, so the painkillers are helping him sleep; finally. I’m not going to roll around in bed, all restless, and wake him. So, up I get. I’m so tired that the weight of it sits on my shoulders and makes me want to hunch like there’s something real sitting and pressing me down. (Yes, for all you other Wiccans out there I am going to do a cleansing when I get into sacred space for meditation this morning.) Negative moods can attract other negative energies that will feed on, or worsen your mood. Don’t believe me? You don’t have to. I’m not even asking. I’m telling you how the universe works for me and the people I know. Maybe your universe works differntly. But if you aren’t Wiccan, then the next time you feel your mood plumet for no reason, or you feel your burdens are too heavy try prayer, or asking the angels for help. That works,too. It’s all about bringing in the good energy to help you fight off the bad.

I have to say, my mood is pretty dark. I’m tired, and it’s like I’ve been running on stress so long, that as the crisis passes I’m left empty. No, not empty, sad. I’ve started yoga and that’s supposed to help me maintain my mood, but I did it yesterday and any happy effects seem to have worn off today. I’ll get on the treadmill this morning. Yes, that will help. My dogs wander about my feet wanting to be fed. I’ve been dreaming of Phouka. Been dreaming she was alive, and we had a new pug puppy. But last night, if I dreamed, I do not remember. There was nothing but the dark last night. Okay, okay, rally. Must rally. Must drag my ass out of this mood.

Positives: Thanks to everyone that sent well wishes for Jon and his surgery. Thanks especially to the nurses and other medical people that he found most reassuring, since everyone trusts their experts. Thanks to all my friends who have offered to do anything I need to help me take care of Jon while he’s laid up. I really appreciate the offers and may have to take you up on it eventually. Thanks to my publisher for not making me tour for SWALLOWING DARKNESS, since my other half will be on crutches still. (That’s right, folks, the Dracula Ballet and the Wolf Howl here in St. Louis are it for events for the foreseeable future. Sorry.) Charles and I already discussed that he can’t do Jon’s job and his, and frankly, we’re not sure the two of us could travel without Jon. We travel well together, the three of us, we seem to compliment each other. Jon and I can travel together just the two of us, but Charles and I have never tried a trip with just the two of us. We’re not sure that without Jon to help the balance that it would work. Besides, Jon is not allowed to put any weight on his one foot at all for six weeks. If he does, it could mess up the surgery. I can’t leave him alone like that. So, there you go.

Positives: I got eleven pages done yesterday, and woke up with the book alive and eager in my head. That’s very good. Eleven pages, and yoga, yesterday. Pretty good. I’ve had a lot of good friends e-mail, call, and even text. The friends that have stood by me and helped, or just offered to help, are very valued. You learn who your good friends are when the chips are down, and they’re still there. Fair weather friends can be fun, but when the storms hit, they vanish. It becomes too hard for them to deal with, and you’re left with the friends that don’t get scared when the world gets hard, or actually they do get scared, but they stick by you anyway. That’s friends. I have some really good ones, and I am so grateful for them.

We’ve moved down into the first floor guest room for the duration, and I’m grateful we have one. No stairs, and a bathroom attached to the room. Doorways are a little narrow for the wheelchair, but we’re managing. The doctor thinks by Monday Jon’s sprain may be healed enough for him to be on crutches. That will be good. Jon has lost over ten pounds on Jenny Craig. Cool. I’m back in jeans that I was about ready to get rid of, because I was tired of them taking up room in my closet. Very cool. I’m sitting in a pair, as I type this, and they’re loose. Nifty. Now I just gotta hit the weights harder and tighten up everything as I loose the weight. Besides, with Jon injured exercise will be my friend, even more than normal. I’m already wishing I’d hit that upper body work out harder as I lift the wheelchair over the little bumps and such at the doorways of all the downstairs rooms. This part of the house dates back to the forties, so it’s got lot’s of neat features, but most of them are not wheelchair friendly.

I’m off to feed the dogs, finish my breakfast, and either mediate, or hit the treadmill. It’s not quite eight. The day stretches before me, and it can either stretch before as a series of obstacles to get around, a series of challenges to survive, or as new chances to succeed. It’s feeling more obstacle and challenge, but I’m trying to look at it all as a chance to succeed. Must try harder.

Jon is fine. Okay, as fine as you can be with a three hour operation and general anthestia. But it went well, and hopefully in a few months his knee will be working the way it was meant to work. I’m very tired, very relieved, and all out of poetic metaphores. I know, I’m a writer and words is my business, but today it’s not about words. Today it’s about that tiredness that comes after days of tension finally lift. With the added addition of weeks of recovery ahead of us. So, on one hand the big, scary tension is lifted. On the other hand, the fat lady has not exactly sung. Physical therapy ahead, and working on the pain meds. I made the mistake last night of giving Jon his cell phone, so if he needed me while I had to run over to the other part of the house he could call. It seemed like such a good idea.

One of the things I did while I gathered things up was call, or e-mail, a few people and let them know he was all right. I was on the phone to my Priestess when she got another call. It was Jon. She got back on the phone with me giggling. I don’t get to hear my Priestess giggle often, but apparently my intoxicated darling was pretty funny last night. I’ve talked to two other people he called last night, all highly amused. He also texted a few people, and that, apparently, was even less coherent. I hurried back over and took his phone from him, gently. I then asked, who else did you call or text? He couldn’t remember. Oh, boy. We’ll check his phone log, or whatever today, just in case. I don’t have enough tech skills to do it myself and my resident techie was way out of it last night.

I’m off to try and get something done while he’s still sleeping. I haven’t been on the tread mill or near the gym in three days and I’m getting a little buggy. I finally put my ipod on with ear phones at the hospital yesterday and marked off a route. I got 2000 extra steps, most of them aeroibic. It helped ease the tension for me. I really need to get that heavy bag put back up. Though it wouldn’t have helped me yesterday at the hospital, so never mind. But, frankly, it’s the book that’s calling harder than the gym. Deadline isn’t getting any further away, and the scene that I got seven pages on the day before may have to be trashed. It just isn’t working. Or, it’s me being tired, and stressed. Is the scene really f**ked, or is it just the inside of my head that is tangled? Should I try to do major rewrite while I’m this stressed? Probably not. But until it’s fixed I can’t do more pages. Crap. To quote a musical with a lot of nice sing-along-songs, "It is a puzzlement."